


Apogee and Perigee

by DefineNormal



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefineNormal/pseuds/DefineNormal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert and Cora have gone through a great deal together, vacillating between wedded bliss and the polar extreme of near adultery. How do they work their way back to stasis? Is it even possible?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T for mature themes, and SS for Robert's Stark Stupidity with that maid.

_**Apogee & Perigee** _

_The extreme points of two objects' orbit around each other._

How the fight began mattered little. A snide remark from Robert about her American heritage, a response of stony silence from her, perhaps a biting retort that was just a little too accurate for everyone's comfort. The inception of the fight was of little consequence; all that mattered was that they stood several feet away, anger racing between them. Many words were said that could not be taken back and many hurts aired that couldn't be erased.

_That maid_ , Cora had called Jane, and all of Robert's misdeeds lay exposed in the pale shame of his features. She knew, oh God how she knew. It was bad enough that he entertained the notion of being unfaithful to her, but it wasn't even the loss of his body that wounded her. It was the loss of his heart. To know he had given a piece of that which she'd believed belonged solely to her was the deepest betrayal. Given to a maid and sent away. What was left of him once _that maid_ had moved on (with her son; Cora was not foolish enough to discount the importance of a son) was just a little sadder, a little more distant, and rife with guilt but no real desire for reconciliation.

He had settled for Cora, as he had in the beginning, and she was once again hopelessly in love with a man who saw her as a duty and a means to an end.

The gauntlet now lay between them and when she'd cried out "Why, Robert, why?", he took two long strides and was close before her in an instant.

Her back hit the wall with a crack. Robert's body, softer with age but no less imposing, pressed her into the wood paneling with a vicious intensity. She didn't fear him, not even in the darkest moments of their marriage, but his ice blue eyes were lasering straight into her, and her jealous heart split under his stare.

His hands gripped her arms above the elbow pinching almost painfully. His face, the one she knew every corner of, hovered close. His lips were twisted in pain, shame and desire.

"Want me." He husked and Cora couldn't tell if it was a plea, a question or a command. "Want me!"

She was unprepared for the assault on her neck, his lips barely brushing before teeth bit into her pulse. Her blood, already simmering from their fight, set to a roiling boil. His palm moved from arm to breast, grasping painfully before following a path to her hip and bunching in the silk of her skirts.

"All I ever wanted," He rasped into her neck, his words reverberating through every cell in her body. "Was for you to want me."

She felt as though his hands were everywhere, one pinning her arm to her side, the other rooting through her skirts to press between her thighs, his thumb stroking over her roughly. Pleasure spiked through her and her back arched. She was helpless in his grasp, needing to touch him but held firm between the firmness of his body and the unyielding wall.

It had been years since she felt this kind of wanton passion from her husband, since before the missc...the war. He had walked on eggshells around her for months, not daring to touch her. And then, when she realized she had been summarily dismissed from her duties as concubine, she began to search for another purpose at Downton. He had seemed so bitter about her pursuit for worth, so angry about his perceived in-consequence to the war effort, and yet he held himself more distant from her than ever before. They made love, but it was more for form than actual desire, and Cora was transported back to those early lonely months of her marriage.

Then, to add insult to injury, his barbs and jabs increased and he began to sound like his mother, offering judgement at every turn. So she buried herself in the work in order to forget the bliss that had been so thoroughly destroyed by the loss of their son - and their entire way of life.

She knew, as she knew very little else, that he blamed her for the loss of their baby. She was foolish and careless. He had often called her midday soaks a ridiculous luxury, and though he tried to comfort her and relieve her of responsibility, she knew he still held her accountable for the loss.

Why else would he be so angry with her? So eager to betray her. With _that maid_.

And yet here he was pressing into her with a desire so intense as to be bordering on violent. The emotion ricocheting between them was a maelestrom of bitterness and fear and loneliness and anger.

When he pressed the bulge in his trousers to rub against her she nearly cried out. _Want me!_ she wanted to sob. It was all she'd ever desired from him from the very beginning. She wanted to be whatever he needed of her. Without his affection she was rudderless, lost and terribly alone. And now, as the evidence of his arousal and desire prodded into her thigh, he grunted and murmured her name.

There were too many emotions swirling between them; the white-hot burn of desire seared her from the inside out. Unbidden, the words she could never say without absolute certainly, tumbled from her shaky lips, at odds with the restrained violence of the moment. "Oh, Robert, I love you."

As quickly as he approached Robert withdrew several feet away from her and put an end table between them.

His cheeks were flushed and eyes glassy and he looked mortified beyond all measure as he took in the sight before him. She couldn't even imagine what she must look like, her hair mussed and her lips swollen from his kisses. Her neck burned where he'd suckled intently and she had no doubt there would be bruising there. Her complexion left nothing to the imagination and she could feel the burn of blush staining her cheeks and neck. The throbbing between her thighs forced her blood to race ever faster, release so close and yet so far, and her vision blurred just around the edges.

_Were those tears?_

"I am so sorry, Cora." Robert could only murmur before he escaped out of the library, leaving her surprised, breathing heavily and terribly alone in the vast space.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry_?

She had spoken the only truth worth saying, offered forgiveness and apology in one simple sentence, and his only response was that he was sorry? Sorry that she loved him? Sorry that he ever married her? Sorry he had gotten caught, or sorry that he had every strayed to begin with? Cora spent the entire evening chewing at her bottom lip, absentmindedly attending to dinner with private thoughts replaying the scene in the library ad nauseum.

O'Brien was unusually quiet as she helped Cora out of her evening dress and into her nightgown and she vacated the room quickly. Cora had a feeling the tense atmosphere had invaded even the bedroom and even O'Brien couldn't stand the heaviness of the air. It must be bad, she thought, if O'Brien didn't even hover to glean whatever gossip she could from her mistress.

Cora studied herself in the mirror, leaning forward to inspect the (incredibly obvious) bruising on her neck. The girls and Violet had kept their counsel about it, although she caught each of them staring just a little too long at different times. Matthew, on the other hand, was dutifully occupied everywhere but at her, and she could have sworn she saw the tips of his ears redden occasionally when he felt her stare. It was merely a little gift of kismet that had Isobel occupied elsewhere, as her particular brand of self-righteousness was just outside of Cora's tolerance. Cora traced the bruise lightly and the mere whisper of her fingers over the spot elicited a soft sigh and the phantom feel of Robert's lips burning against her pulse.

She realized with a start that she was waiting for him, nervously anticipating his entrance to their bedroom. Despite everything that had transpired between them in recent months he had never stopped sleeping with her, holding her when her nightmares became too intense, soothing her when she cried herself to sleep. She had believed, perhaps simply hoped, that her presence had offered the same comfort to him.

As the minutes bled into nearly quarter of an hour, she stood and paced. She had no idea what she would say to him when he appeared, wondered if there was any point in speaking. Perhaps they should continue on as if nothing had ever happened, something in which she had been schooled intensely and often since arriving in Downton. But this time, her lesson dovetailed with her desire. What she wanted to was to be near her husband, to assure herself that they would be OK, in spite of it all.

At the half hour mark he still hadn't appeared, although she'd heard Thomas leave the dressing room nearly ten minutes previous. And while it would be easier to allow him to sulk in the relative protection of his dressing room, she was not going to allow him to avoid her in there.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob as she helplessly recalled that feverish night months back as she'd heard the rumbling murmurs of voices next door. Recognized that of her husband and a young woman. For days she believed she'd dreamt it, the flu torturing her emotionally even as it taxed her physically. When she surfaced into consciousness and returned to full health she began to truly believe it to be a fever dream and set the entire matter aside.

Then Jane had left, and O'Brien hadn't required much prodding to reveal the entire tawdry tale according to the staff. They knew everything, downstairs, and sometimes Cora wondered if it was with some sick pleasure that O'Brien collected her information, choosing to share it with her when it stood to do the most damage.

Finally, Cora made a decision and took action before she could back out. Bold as brass, with very few (albeit significant) misgivings, she swept into his room without knocking. He sat on the edge of his bed, wide shoulders slumped beneath his pajamas, his fingers twined in the silver curls at his temple. He looked so much older than his years, burdened beneath unseen troubles.

"Robert?" She asked tentatively, her hand still on the doorknob, prepared to step back into her room should he ask it, bravado already fleeing her. He jerked as if run through with a current and when he spun to look at her, guilt and confusion furrowed his brow. "Are you coming to bed?"

He gaped at her, and looked so adorably flustered that she allowed the smallest smile to twitch at the corners of her mouth.

"I didn't think...I mean, I thought it best I stay in here tonight." She tracked his eyes as he stared at the mark on her neck before darting away.

"If you mean to avoid a conversation with me by hiding in your dressing room, you needn't worry. I don't intend to drive you further away by being daft and cornering you." She didn't try to hide the tremor in her voice, resignation heavy in the tone. "But everything need not change because I goaded you into a confrontation. Come to bed, Robert."

Still slack-jawed, Robert slowly shook his head and returned to his seat on the bed. "Go to bed, Cora."

Shock sent ice through her veins and Cora nearly did as asked, her weight shifting until she was leaning back into her room.

_No_ , she wanted to scream it at him. He wouldn't run away from her, not when she'd come to him. Not when she had offered to set it all behind them and continue on. Not when she had convinced herself that having even a small part of him was better than having nothing at all. He would hate her, blame her, shame her or forgive her. But she would be damned if she would let him walk away from her any more.

"No." She stated evenly, stepping forward into his room and closing the door behind her. "I will not, and if you want me to leave you'll have to move me yourself."


	3. Chapter 3

" _No." She stated evenly, stepping forward into his room and closing the door behind her. "I will not, and if you want me to leave you'll have to move me yourself."_

"I don't want to fight with you, Cora." Robert tried to keep his voice even, but she could hear the tension in his words. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's just a little too late for that, isn't it?" She pressed her back to the door. "You once swore to me that I was more to you than an obligation. Do not make yourself a liar, not now. Not after all this time."

"What would you like for me to say, My Dearest?" She was pleased to hear the underlying belligerence. It meant he hadn't give up. "That I am sorry for accosting you in the library where God and anyone could have seen me treating you like a common whore?"

"To start. Although don't bother apologizing too vehemently. I'll think you didn't enjoy it, and that would be quite the shame. I don't recall voicing any objections."

Occasionally she would say something that caused his eyes to bulge spectacularly and he would stare at her as though he'd never seen her before in his life. This was one of those times, and he seemed truly flabbergasted that she would dismiss his behavior.

"Robert, we've been married going on three decades. I've become quite accustomed to your baser urges, even the ones that don't include me." It was a needless jab that found its mark, and Robert's cheeks flushed with anger.

"Cora, how long do you intend to torture me with that? I made a mistake, a very dire one admittedly, and I would take back my decision if I could. But I can't, and if you intend to harp on me about it during every disagreement..."

"You'll not finish that thought at its obvious conclusion if you have any sense." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Mentioning a rather serious indiscretion twice is not harping, and you'll do well to remember that _you_ were the one in the wrong, not I, and I will damn well mention it not a handful of hours after you pushed me away with only a vague apology. What am I supposed to think?"

"I'm sorry." He sounded so broken. So truly sorry. "I never intended for you to find out."

Now it was her turn for bulging eyes, and he wasn't too self-pitying to notice and attempt to backtrack quickly. "Once the mistake was done, I didn't want to compound my deed by hurting you with it. There is nothing I regret more than wounding you, Cora. Nothing."

She took two tentative steps towards his bed and he rocked away from her. She wanted to throttle him for his contradictory actions. Ravish her in the library, leave in a flash. Beg her to want him, push her away when she does. Men often complained that the female mind was illogical and hysterically emotional. But there was nothing more complex and infuriating than a man who was nursing a wounded ego.

Frustration bubbled over and she advanced on him quickly, mirroring his actions from earlier, not giving him a chance to back away from her again. She knelt on the bed next to him, grasping his cheeks between her palms before pressing her lips desperately to his. The kiss was violent and quick, and when she pulled away her eyes were filled with tears she would not shed.

"What is broken between us, Robert?" She asked, brushing her lips against his cheek. "Why won't you let me love you?"

He didn't answer and didn't pull away, but neither did he relax in her grasp. He remained stone still and oddly distant despite their closeness.

"I do want you." She whispered, allowing her hands to drift down his neck to his shoulders, giving herself leverage to move forward, scooting closer on the bed. "Whatever you want from me, please."

The plea was his undoing, and he moved lethargically as though waking from sleep. He gripped at her elbows to pull her forward into his lap. She could sense his hunger and desperation, recognized it as mirroring her own. It was the deep-seeded need for connection, for a return to their easy connection before everything began slipping away.

Why he couldn't have sought this with _her_ months before, instead of _that maid_ , she would likely never uncover. But she wouldn't worry about it when he was touching her so gently and his lips were deliciously painting over the contusion on her neck. She hoped to please him, to remind him that which he had forgotten. Perhaps that which she had allowed him to forget, as she had been too busy burying her pain and loneliness in Downton.

She hoped to remind him that she loved him beyond measure, and that whatever else had gone wrong, coming to Downton as his wife had been the best decision in her life. She regret nothing in her choice of him, save for her personal failures, and she wasn't sure she could be expected to continue without him.

They undressed one another slowly, the hush of night deep increasing their sense of solitude, as they intently pressed skin to skin. She made to slide down, her lips and tongue trailing over chest and abdomen until he stopped her, his fingers below her chin to shift her gaze upwards.

"No, my love. Not that way." Sad-eyed and bittersweet, he drew her beneath him and covered her body with his.

It was a near repeat of their first night of true passion almost thirty years previous. When "sex" had meant procreation and duty and was only vaguely pleasurable. She had come to him much like this, barely dressed but innocent and fearful that she had angered him in some way. They sat on his bed and talked freely for the first time in their short marriage, and when he pressed his lips to hers, she opened to him, blossoming under his touch.

They had giggled that night, trying to make the small bed accommodate their joining. He had watched in wonder as the flush rose up her body, painting her porcelain skin an alluring pink, He delighted in her sighs as they trended deeper and more guttural.

They had discovered love together that night, as well as friendship and a precious trust that allowed their marriage to flourish.

Once more the uncomfortable little bed in Robert's dressing room served to bring them together onto the same path once more.


	4. Chapter 4

_Once more the uncomfortable little bed in Robert's dressing room served to bring them together onto the same path._

Better, but not healed. That was how Cora thought of their marriage. Robert was no longer hiding from her, and they returned to some of their easy banter. He tentatively reached for her hand out of the blue and even began to invite her on walks once more. Their quiet evenings in the library were no longer filled with angry silences pregnant with unvoiced grievances, but were tentatively companionable.

They became bonded in their mutual dislike of Richard Carlisle, and took to referring to him as The Paperboy. They commiserated over their increasing distress over Sybil's dogged independence. As usual, they hardly ever discussed Edith.

And yet, despite all the forward momentum, there were so many things they didn't say. So many pauses that begged to be broken with the truth.

Cora caught him watching her often, his expression gentle and yet distant and she couldn't help but wonder if he was ruminating on _that maid_ , and all of Cora's own shortcomings.

"A penny for your thoughts," She asked one evening, and he shook his head as if waking from sleep.

"They're not worth that much, love." He smiled, but it was hollow, and she recognized the prevarication.

"Robert, I don't want to start a fight..." His shoulders stiffened and she sighed. He never quite believed her when she said that, not anymore. "I simply wish you would talk to me."

He looked momentarily pained, as though the very idea frightened him to his core. And then the tension released and when he spoke, it was with apology and resignation.

"I was wondering what our son would have looked like." Had he survived, she heard what he didn't say, and her heart made a slow trek into her throat.

They didn't speak of the baby. Not ever, and she believed it was because he was afraid he to reveal his anger at her carelessness.

"Robert, I never should have taken that bath." She confessed quickly, surprising even herself, and her voice cracked despite her resolution to be strong. "I ruined everything. For you. For Mary. For Matthew. I hope you know how very sorry I am. And I don't blame you for seeking comfort with that maid...with Jane. Not really. I know you wanted a son more than life itself, and I know it doesn't mean you love our girls any less. I know also know she could have give you that, when I couldn't."

She hadn't intended for it to tumble out quite that way, the words spilling freely. But it was done and her husband looked shell-shocked, confused, and vaguely pained. She had a way of always hurting him without meaning to. And where weeks ago she might have enjoyed causing him some pain, it seemed pointless and dangerous. Losing his affection was not worth the gamble of petty satisfaction.

Silence reigned until Cora couldn't stand it any longer. She rose from the couch and began to leave, not wanting to compound his hurt and unwilling to risk another angry scene by continuing to speak.

She had been prepared to accept what their marriage had become, and told herself that it was better still than many of those in their circle. Yet she was never one to leave well-enough alone and after almost fifty years of life one would think she would have acquired a bit more custody of her mouth.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't sense Robert behind her until his palm pressed the door shut in front of her, hand splayed firmly to hold it closed.

"You cannot say something like that and simply leave." He said, turning her to face him. He drew her hands between his palms and brought them to his lips. His gentleness was her undoing, and she stepped into his arms and buried her face in his neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." She didn't sob - she had shed countless tears over the loss of their son, leaving her terribly empty - but she clutched the lapels of Robert's jacket and clung to him, her absolute devastation causing her body to tremble.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asked when the storm had mostly passed, his hands making passes up and down her back as she settled against him.

"Because it's my fault." She leaned back just a touch, her blue eyes searching his face for any sign of mocking. She saw nothing but his sincere confusion. "You know it's my fault."

"I know nothing of the kind. I know you had an accident, and I know that I came very close to losing you in those dark days. I know that I prayed for God to take me and to spare you. I know that if I hadn't been so intent to satisfy my urges with you, I never would have put you in such a dangerous position in the first place." He whispered into the loose curls at her temple, slowly guiding them back to a settee. He sat and pulled his wife, now resembling the frightened young girl he'd married rather than the strong woman she had become, into his lap. She protested weakly, relieved to be held tightly in his embrace. "My Cora, have I given you any cause to believe that I blamed you? Because if I have, I cannot apologize enough."

"You...wouldn't touch me. Even after the doctor said it was admissible for us to resume that part of our marriage, you simply weren't there." She remembered those lonely months. They lived under the spectre of war, the devastation that crept in slowly as young men began to disappear. Robert was so intent to go off to fight, to feel purpose in a time when such impotence was devastating, she couldn't avoid the belief that he was trying to escape her and what she'd done.

He remained silent, his grip on Cora's waist almost painful as he clutched her to him. She waited for him to speak, but he remained thoughtfully quiet and she couldn't stand the lull.

"Everything I said was wrong. I was heartless because I was more intent on Mary than Matthew. Too American for defending Sybil. I was fighting for my daughters and somehow that meant I was fighting with you. And then there was that maid...and her son. I know I was neglecting you, perhaps, but I thought you wanted me to find a purpose. To leave you alone. What else did you expect me to think?"

"I-" The library door opened and Mary stepped inside, stopping short at the sight of her parents on the settee. Cora stood slowly and turned to Mary, expertly masking her bitter sadness and instead offering a tremulous smile that Mary accepted as abashment.

"I'm sorry." Mary reddened and began to back out of the room; she was playfully disapproving of her parents' tendency towards physical nearness. "I'll let you get back to..."

"No, no." Cora stepped away from Robert and he hesitantly dropped his hands into his lap, not ready to relinquish her. "I'd like to talk to you about the Christmas celebration anyway."

For Cora, the moment was broken. Seconds previous she hungered for answers; now she confronted the reality that she might receive ones that were painful to hear. She couldn't bear his rejection, not again. Courage fled and she pressed her hand to Robert's shoulder in yet another apology.

It was her turn to flee, and she took it. She was beginning to hate that library.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Upside Downstairs Sad-cakes: Cora and Robert have another tete a tete in the library. There is less molestation and a great deal more Deep Conversation. Mary, who causes trouble wherever she goes, is the proverbial bell that saves them. And now we travel into the dark and mysterious cave that is Robert's mind. I hope we all make it out unscathed, that horny toad.

Robert didn't think himself to be a particularly dim man, but he came to the conclusion in the way of recent events that he wasn't going to win any awards for his keen observation either. So twisted up in his own guilt and short-comings, he had failed to see that Cora was suffering in her own way. Silently, as always.

He vowed he would play closer attention, and spent more time simply watching her. He was particularly entranced by the curve of her neck, the delicate bones of her shoulders, and her hair which never quite stayed put no matter how hard O'Brien tried. He found himself comparing that which had been, in the tilt of her chin and the shape of her figure, knowing he appreciated it all more with each passing year.

That was the surface, however, and he amended to look deeper, to the parts of herself that she tried to hide from the onlooker.

So he was forced to bear witness the sadness in her eyes as she watched Mary with Richard; the winces when Richard was particularly callous. He saw her eyes alight when she spoke of Sybil, and her confusion and desire to understand when in conversation with Edith. He enjoyed the barely concealed amusement that came with interacting with his mother and Isobel.

But it was when they were alone, and she eased the veil, that he witnessed the most profound changes.

She would stare into the distance often, her hand over her abdomen, occasionally pressing so hard her knuckles whitened. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she would adjust herself and fuss with her hair. But as he paid closer attention to the routine, he saw her tug gently at the corner of her eyes, her face souring at the delicate folds.

What he discerned, what he had forgotten could happen, was that Cora was wrestling with many of the same demons as he. Father Time was cruel and was ushering them into obsolescence together. She would no longer bear children and he would no longer fight wars. She questioned her youth and attractiveness (as he obviously did), even as he found her more beautiful every day.

She feared for her children. Perhaps in a way he couldn't understand, not when he looked at Matthew and saw everything they could have had but didn't. He always believed his daughters to be blessed with looks, brains and impressive dowries. It never occurred to him that they would be missing anything in life.

But Cora...Cora understood what it was to be used by those around you to a means to an end. She had seen her life signed away, admittedly her own (youthfully ill-advised) decision. She trusted him, his father, her own parents to guide her and they had failed. From thousands of miles away her parents couldn't stop her from making a grave mistake, and she would live with the knowledge that she had traded a great deal in exchange for the future of her daughters.

It was with belated awareness to watch his wife, slight of form but not of personality, try to stand between her girls and the barreling truth that they were going to be pawns in a larger game. Whether it be for Downton or for their future husbands, with the exception of Sybil, they were not going to be the mistresses of their own fates.

She was wrestling with the idea of securing their futures and giving them the chance to forge their own ways. And yet there he had been, working against her, choosing to see her meddling as undermining him. He fought for Matthew, for the house, for the Estate that held Cora's entire worth. He considered his daughters "settled" when the truth was anything but. Perhaps Downton was a priority, but his daughters should have been, too.

It was several days before Cora could be tracked down alone in the house. She had been avoiding the library as though it held the plague and he supposed it had. Their last few encounters in there had yielded little but pain for the both of them. It was too cool for their daily walks, something he missed dreadfully, and the matter of the upcoming Holidays and Servant's Ball was keeping Cora busy, not to mention her preparations for Thanksgiving. A strictly American Holiday, nonetheless Cora insisted they celebrate it with all the trimmings of her childhood and he knew it was her favorite holiday. Plans and preparations kept her busy and when he appeared in the bedchamber each night she was usually fast asleep.

Whether or not she was purposely avoiding him didn't matter in the least. He set about to find her because there were things he needed to say and truths he needed to reveal. She had unburdened her soul and absorbed all the blame. It was his turn to return the favor, such as it was.

He finally located her in her bedroom, preparing for her bath before dinner. It relieved him to know she returned to that habit, for she had avoided bathing as often as possible in the months after their devastation.

She was shocked to see his reflection in her mirror, and even more flabbergasted when he dismissed O'Brien.

"Robert, I need her." She was only half undressed and looked terribly put out by his appearance. Put out and just a touch frightened. "Call her back, please."

He stayed silent and moved close behind her, pressing his palms to her shoulders. He felt the tension that she usually hid so well and moved to unfasten her necklace. All the while he kept his gaze on hers, moving his hands to her hair to begin pulling the pins that held the intricate style in place. It fascinated him to watch the curls unfurl down her back, and he deeply regretted the fact that women were expected to keep their hair tied away. Although he supposed it was better that way - Cora was a beautiful, bewitching vixen with her hair swirling her shoulders and he didn't feel he could stand the stares if she allowed any but him and O'Brien to see her that way.

When he was finished he urged her to stand, plucking at the laces on her corset and undoing them expertly. He knew from the crooked smile on her face that she was remembering his less-than-skillful attempts in the past. Once, in a hungered frenzy, he'd cut one of the damn things off her. She hardly let him forget it, so amused was she by his need.

"I've been wanting to speak to you for a few days." He said conversationally, unable to check her expression as he loosened the stays enough for her to shimmy out of the corset. "You've been very busy."

She stiffened and he cursed inwardly. He hadn't intended it to sound like an admonition, but all things considered...

"I appreciate how hard you're working to make the Holidays nice." He said in explanation and she allowed herself to relax as he pushed the undershirt from her shoulders and turned to hold out a lightweight cotton robe. "I'm looking forward to the Thanksgiving Feast."

She took his peace offering as it was meant and when he reached forward to drape the robe over her shoulders she turned and leaned back, placing a chaste kiss on his neck. Her forgiveness burned him, nearly as much as her guilt and apologies had days earlier.

He didn't deserve them, despite knowing that perhaps there was some truth to them. He didn't deserve for her to to take all the blame, and he knew that owed her more. He owed her his heart, all the dark and tender places. The places he had been hiding from her, the one person who didn't deserve it.

"Come, the water's getting cold." He tugged her into the bathing room, intent to work towards setting things right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Upside Downstairs Sad-cakes: Robert finally forcibly removed his head from his nether regions and came to some seriously important conclusions. Having recognized that he was marginalizing Cora's feelings, he resolves to do what every English Man Avoids - talk about HIS feelings. This is best accomplished with Cora naked in a bathtub because, you know, he's still a man.

In general terms, the sight of his wife's nude body was usually enough to set Robert's blood to a rollicking boil. And this day was no different, but he set aside the tightening of his groin and the lump in his throat to help her step into the warm water.

She was tentative and shy, not due to her state of undress but because the room still held such a disastrous memory. Robert recalled the last time he'd been in the room, with Cora's usually porcelain skin a gray pale and fingers of blood spreading across the tiles.

He held her hand as she settled in the water, the barest sigh escaping her lips as she was enveloped by warmth. He could sense her bafflement and pulled up O'Brien's chair to settle beside the tub. Reluctantly he released her hand to allow her to bathe.

"Enjoying the view?" Cora asked at length, the usual tease somewhat hollow thanks to the waver in her tone. She held the soap between her hands, inspecting it with undue interest.

"I have to apologize to you for my behavior, my dearest." He began, but he was looking past her out the wide expanses of glass that overlooked the estate.

"If this is about that day in the library..." She began, dismissively.

"No, not entirely. It's about the maid." She jerked and the soap dropped into the water. "Jane."

"Please don't, Robert." She whispered, not sure she could stand the baring of his soul while she was vulnerable and unable to escape. She wondered if that had been the plan. "Can't we just forget it ever happened?"

His smile was sad when he finally met her gaze. "I wish we could, but the truth is it did happen. And it will forever stand between us as something we don't say to each other. I'm too old to have one more unspoken barrier that we attempt to live around."

She made a small noise in the back of her throat, not quite a whimper and not quite an acquiescence.

"During the war I watched you, I watched our daughters...I watched even my mother come to terms with a new world that seemed to have no place for me in it. You, who had always been so dependent on me, found a purpose even greater than this house and attending to our marriage. You were happy. Engaged. I was hurt and lonely."

Her reaction, as he expected, was defensive. "Robert, you wanted us to do our part. You said that very thing to me day in and day out."

"I didn't say my emotions made sense, Cora. I wanted you to have purpose, but I needed you to need me. And suddenly you didn't anymore. Hadn't for a long time, to be honest, I simply hadn't realized it yet. Our daughters were growing up, I was grooming an heir who wasn't my son. It is a terrible thing to realize you are slowly becoming obsolete."

Unable to sit still, needing to reassure Cora as well as himself, he pulled a second piece of soap from the table by the tub and lathered his hands. He urged her forward and began to rub over her back, watching the bubbles swirl over her skin even as he attempted to make sense of his complicated emotions. She relaxed in his hands, pleased to be near him again despite the difficult conversation.

"I was angry, not at you exactly. At the circumstances. You were pushing Matthew out and forward, continuing your trek into the future and I was left standing in the same place as you moved farther and farther away. I watched you, our girls, my mother all progress happily into the next phase of your lives and none of you seemed concerned that I was left behind."

"Robert..." She tried to turn around, too look at him, but he held her still by the shoulders.

"That's not a judgement, love. Jane appeared at a time in which I was unsure of us. Unsure of my role in our marriage. When you came here you were lost, lonely and needy. All my fault, I admit, but I was able to be your knight in shining armor. I was spoiled knowing that you needed and wanted me as a default. You were finding worth that didn't exist in me and I just didn't know how to relate to you anymore.

"I saw in Jane my chance to save someone again. Someone who reminded me I was powerful and strong. It was an opportunity to have someone - a beautiful, young woman - depend on me again, in a way you didn't anymore."

"I would ask why you wouldn't talk to me, but I know the answer." He could hear the sorrow clogging her throat. "I wouldn't have listened. Couldn't have. I was powerful and strong and in control. It was new and exciting. I traded that independence for you, and I drove you away."

"This isn't about fault, Cora. It was easy to blame you, and God know I did, but we are only responsible for our own actions. I realize that now. And I'm ashamed that I had used that poor girl to wound you, ashamed that I thought it was OK to hurt you simply for living."

He cupped water over her back to rinse, then re-soaped his hands and ran them down her arms. It settled him to touch her, to remind himself of her corporeal reality. It was dangerous to allow someone to become idealized in one's mind. He was afraid the truth of Cora suffered when compared to the flawless vision in his memory, the fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked virgin who behaved as though he hung the moon. He had no doubt that he experienced the same shortcomings in her thoughts as well.

"Why did you send her away?" Cora asked quietly, finally leaning backwards in the tub and meeting his gaze with her own.

To say she had served her purpose was cruelly unfair and somewhat untrue. To say that he had realized the error of his ways was also a generous assessment of himself.

"Because I would have made a grave mistake." He admitted finally, and could not keep eye contact. "I would have wounded you and myself, and our life together and I would have done it without pause and with little thought to regret."

He _would_ have regretted it, of course, eventually. And he would have rationalized it. Men, Earls, were allowed their dalliances. Not simply tolerated but in some circles encouraged. He would have rationalized his actions but he would have regretted hurting Cora. Cora who was made of sterner stuff; who would have taken her pound of flesh if wronged. She was older, wiser and tougher than the young girl she'd been when they were wed, and he was proud of her that. It also made him careless.

Jane, on the other hand, might not have survived the ensuing heartbreak and scandal. Neither would her son. He wouldn't - couldn't - do that to satisfy his own vanity.

"It wasn't worth it." Robert said at last. "Not for any of us."

He looked down in surprise to find their hands twined together, Cora pressing hard into his grip as though she was afraid he would slip away.

"Is this because of the baby?" The terror and hurt in her voice sliced across his heart, and he leaned forward. Careless of the water, he wrapped his arms around her shoulder and pressed his lips to her cheek.

It occurred to him that they had never grieved together, never discussed the loss of their son. Never given one another support other than the distant, easy and socially acceptable version of it. It was then they began to hold one another at arm's length, giving space instead of understanding. It wasn't because of the baby, it was because they hadn't known how to deal with that loss. The fault, if there was one, was entirely of their making.

"No." He said it fiercely, needing her to understand. "Never."

"You must hate me." Sorrow turned her tone watery, but she did not cry.

"Never!" His voice was harsh, willing her to understand. There was no room for hatred and blame in the memory of the brief life of their son. He didn't want his disastrously short existence sullied with their own selfish emotions or petty blame. Nor would not let her torture herself with it.

Their son deserved more than to be an excuse for all that came after.

When she continued to be stone in his grip he toed off his shoes and stood. Fully dressed but unconcerned, he stood and stepped into the tub behind her. She made a sound of surprise that was squelched when he banded his arms around her and held her tightly to his chest. Together they sunk back into the water, wrapped in one another's arms. A baptism of sorts, allowing the water to sweep away the last of these sins and, perhaps, bring forgiveness.

Together.

The time of solitude was long past.

They stayed that way until long after the water cooled, finally warm for the first time in years.


	7. Chapter 7

_And then they lived happily ever after._

Disaster had a way of binding family, even more completely than simple celebration. Therefore the entire family of Downton, those upstairs and those downstairs, was particularly close-knit throughout the Christmas of 1919.

Cora believed it their job, their very purpose, for her and Robert to maintain ballast in the face of nearly debilitating disaster and an endless series of gut-punches that kept the entire house reeling. They would set the tone for the rest of the house, and it was imperative that they maintain a facade of quiet confidence.

And then, as the new year celebrations faded and the vast estate found itself buried beneath a blanket of snow, it felt like they were able to take a collective sigh of relief.

Bates was safe from execution which, although not a complete victory, meant that hope still burned. Cora was finally able to unburden herself of a secret that had seared her heart for years. Robert's unexpected reaction was to give Mary his support, unequivocally, so that she was free to break off her difficult engagement. The relief of that turn alone was enough to un-tether Cora's heavy heart and set it to soar.

Sybil, their baby, was to have a child of her own. If Cora knew her husband (and there was very little in the world she would admit to knowing as well as Robert), the knowledge of a grandchild was quite enough to complete the thaw between him and the Branson family.

All in all, the first months of 1920 set a tone of hopeful anticipation for the many good things to come. It was, in her estimation, a good note indeed.

So it was with some measure of concern that she caught Robert's far away expression as he sat in the chair of their bedroom before retiring for the night. In the previous months hey had begun to talk again, long rambling conversations conducted side by side in the bed they shared for three decades. It was an unburdening of hearts and souls, and the fractured bond between them slowly began to repair. After such a day, Cora had hoped there would be less conversation and a good deal more...entertainment, but she could tell that Robert's mind was elsewhere.

Curving her hand around the nape of his neck he started only lightly as she slid into his lap. He smelled of soap and brandy and she buried her nose against his neck.

"You look troubled." She whispered against the sensitive skin below his ear before pressing a kiss there. His entire body trembled lightly as she knew it would, and she smiled against his throat.

"No, not troubled." His palm made a soothing pass up her back and back down, fingertips trailing over her spine. It settled him to touch her these days, to know that she was nearby even if their opinions were acres apart. "Just thoughtful."

She curled tighter into him, wiggling just slightly, hoping to tempt him out of his pensive state. His free hand cupped her knee and began a slow trip up and across her thigh. It was true that this part of their marriage was not a fire that raged out of control as it had years earlier. But it was also true that their nights together were sweeter, no longer filled with desperate longing but a sweet kind of connection. Cora sighed with Robert's fingers slid beneath the edge of her nightgown, reveling in the feather-soft trail of his fingertips over the outside of her thigh.

"A _very_ good note." She giggled into his ear and bit gently, terribly self-satisfied to hear the gravelly groan escape his throat.

The rapid double knock on their bedroom door was followed by a two second pause and Mary's questioning "Mamaw?" before she cautiously opened the door.

Robert extricated his hand from any place inappropriate and both parents turned to their daughter, standing abashed in their doorway.

Her face, so dear and familiar to them, was twisted in an expression of excitement and horror and, Cora thought, just a hint of relief. The issues between her parents were never lost on Mary, even when Sybil and Edith were too distracted or too young to understand. Mary watched them carefully and seemed to sense the temperature of their relationship preternaturally. It settled her, therefore, to see her parents back on the same page, even if it meant that they were back on the _same page_.

"I just thought you should know," Mary blurted from the doorway, excitement eclipsing discomfort as she stepped inside. "Matthew proposed."

Cora inhaled sharply and Robert's grip tightened on her, his fingers pressing into her lower back. This was a familiar road, and they were understandably cautious.

"And I accepted." Mary finished, and her smile was the sunrise. Cora didn't bother to temper her exclamation of joy before she launched herself in her daughter's direction, wrapping arms around Mary tightly.

"Oh, my sweet girl." Cora cooed, and tears burned at the corners of her eyes. "I am so very happy for you."

That Cora would be pleased was no question. A love match for her daughters had never seemed an attainable goal. And while Sybil chose to eschew her place in Society, her letters were filled with a simple fulfilled joy that Cora envied. For Mary to find such a match, while also securing her father's entire estate, seemed an event too wonderful to be true.

When Cora finally released her daughter, Mary turned to Robert. The tentative hope in her face stabbed at him even before she spoke.

"It seems you'll have the son you always wanted." She hadn't meant it to be an admonition but a gift. She was so often a disappointment to the one man in the world she adored above all others; she just knew this would please him beyond all measure.

Her father's embrace was warm and gentle, as she so often remembered from her childhood. Many girls' fathers were distant and, to some extent, Robert was. But he never withheld affection and would gladly embrace his girls as often as they wanted to be held. She cried herself to sleep many times in the protective arms of her Papaw, needing and loving the simple strength of him to bolster her through difficult times.

Mary backed away and her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, which spilled over with Robert's next words.

"That may be, but I want you to know, Mary." He tilted his head forward just a touch, to assure their eyes met. "I've always had the daughters I always wanted."

Her eyes fluttered shut and a tear tracked over her cheek, and when she opened them again her smile was the one she inherited from her mother. Bright and dangerous, and full of humor

"We can start planning tomorrow. Please, go back to your...evening rituals." She let the door snick shut behind her.

Silence reigned in the bedroom for half a second before Cora turned. Her smile was brighter than the artificial lights in the house, brighter than the sun on a spring day, and she threw herself into Robert's arms with such force that they tumbled backwards onto the bed.

Their laughter was unfettered, and Cora looked as though the last several years had simply melted away. She was overcome and she laid her ear against Robert's chest, listening to his warm, slow heartbeat.

"Mary is getting married, Robert. To Matthew!" Years earlier Cora had called such an announcement an answer to their prayers and the fix to all their problems. Now, in the wake of a war and a seismic shift that changed the very complexion of their daily lives, it was far more than a mere "solution". Yes, the Estate would stay intact and Mary's children, Cora's grandchildren, would one day inherit the entire fortune they had tried so hard to protect. But more importantly, the most important in Cora's estimation, was that Mary would be bound to man that she loved. She had a chance at happiness. A very real chance.

She could almost physically feel Robert's drift from celebration to his distant brooding from earlier, and when she rested her chin on her palm to look up to him, she found his expression once more hazy.

"Robert, please be happy. Just for tonight, let's have our happy ending."

He smiled down at her, but his grin was somewhat wistful. "Cora, we're getting old."

Her shocked expression drew laughter from him, and his hands wrapped around her back in a quick hug. "Our girls are growing up. Sybil is pregnant, Mary is engaged..."

"Edith is..."

"Edith. Yes. It's just...we are on our way out, now. It's time to make room for the children, the grand-children. Where have the years gone?"

Cora let loose a sigh and settled harder onto Robert's chest. She wondered vaguely if all men became quite so conscious of the passage of years They often joked that women were the ones worried of becoming old maids, but it occurred to Cora that men were equally terrified of becoming old men. Perhaps even moreso.

"Before you know it," He continued on. "You'll be living in the Dower House, terrorizing your son-in-laws."

Cora sat up abruptly, although there was only mock anger in her face. "First, I don't intend to terrorize anybody, that is an in-born Crawley trait that I look to you to fulfill. I am fairly certain you have already begun with _our son-in-law_ , young Branson. I, on the other hand, plan to age gracefully surrounded by my grandchildren, spoiling them terribly as my _American_ heritage dictates. Second, you aren't dead yet. We are quite alive, and we are quite blessed. Why don't you help me celebrate for tonight. We can worry about the rest of it tomorrow. Next week. Next year."

She was right. Of course she was right. There was no point in living in the future, if you chose not to exist in the present. Cora was determined to celebrate the present.

He rolled her until he was pressing her into the mattress and he allowed his hands free reign over her body. She came alive beneath his touch, and sought to stoke the same fire in him.

No, they weren't dead yet. And he was fully prepared to show his wife just how not-dead he was.

Life at Downton would forge ahead, and those inside her walls would persevere, regardless of what the future held. They were strong, stronger than any of them even realized. The coming years would continue to test them in ways they could not yet even begin to imagine. And while at times they would drift away from one another, the house, the family, their love all worked to create a strong gravitational force that kept them in the proper orbit.

Closer, farther, dimmer, brighter.

Together.

Always together.

_fin_


End file.
